Jardin's Gamble (Haven, Texas 9)

An hour and a half later, her belly full with good food and her heart lightened with friendship, she made her way down the street with the boys. She blamed her inattention on her sleepy state and that’s why her danger radar didn’t go off as soon as they stepped into the rundown house that their landlord took great pleasure in charging them rent for while never doing anything to fix up the place. And that included the holes in the roof that leaked when it rained.

She opened the door, ducking just in time as a fist swung at her face.

“Boys, bedroom. Now!” she screamed, backing away and blocking the next swipe at her face. At least he was only using his fists. One time, he’d greeted her with a baseball bat and broken her arm in two places. It still ached on cold days.

Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed with rage. The fact that she’d managed to escape his meaty fists only stirred his fury. She dodged back as the boys raced out of the room. They knew what to do when the bastard got like that.

Get the fuck away from the psycho.

The stench of bourbon and piss filled the air, making her gag. Her dad was dressed in a holey, white wife-beater, pit stains under the arms. His jeans sagged off him. His muscle might be turning to fat and his body might be deteriorating from years of abuse, but he still had a good hundred pounds and a whole foot of height on her.

Plus, he was a nasty son of a bitch with zero morals.

“Where’s my money, bitch!” His face was red, mottled.

She forced herself not run off. She couldn’t escape him. Not with the boys in the house. She just had to keep him away from them, and survive as best she could.

He lunged out at her, his hand pulling back to crack across her face. She ducked and dove forward, tackling him. Her skin crawled where she touched him. And she only managed to push him over because he was already unsteady from hours of drinking before they’d gotten there.

She’d gotten rid of all the booze in the house, so he’d obviously brought it with him.

He roared and climbed to his feet as she shifted away. But her foot connected with the arm of a chair and she toppled over, unable to catch herself on the ridiculous heels she wore.

“I know you took it, bitch! I need my money!”

She had no idea what money he was talking about since he never had any. Other than what he stole from her, that was.

She scrambled backward as he made his way over to her, breath heaving from his chest.

“I want my fucking money.” He reached down, grabbing her shirt and ripping the front, exposing her plain, cotton bra. His gaze fixated on her chest.

Her heart raced, fear making it hard for her to think. To react. He’d never touched her like that before. He’d bruised her, made her bleed, made her dream time after time of revenge, of escape.

But he’d never hurt her sexually.

Something shifted in his face. Something calculating.

“Maybe there’s another way. Maybe I don’t need the money. Maybe he’ll take you instead.” He started cackling as she stared at him in shock. Had he finally lost it?

“Yeah, ’bout time you paid me back after I fed and sheltered you all these years.”

Yep, he’d lost it. Fed and sheltered her? She’d taken care of herself all these years. With no help from him. In fact, he’d been more of a fucking hindrance.

If it weren’t for the boys, she’d have left a long time ago.

Reaching down, he grabbed her sore hand before she could stop him. “What’s this? Got a little boo-boo?”

He squeezed until she screamed in pain. A satisfied smirk crossed his face. He wouldn’t be happy until he’d exacted his pain. Using her other hand, she dug her nails into his wrist to try to force him to let go.

“Get the fuck away from me,” she yelled at him.

He loosened his hold on her hand only to grab hold of her neck, pressing her to the floor. His hand tightened around her neck until she knew it would bruise, until dark dots danced in front of her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. Shit! He was going to kill her!

“Pathetic bitch.”

He let go of her. She lay still, gasping. She couldn’t risk incurring more of his wrath. Not when she had the boys to think of. If anything happened to her . . .

He stepped back, chuckling to himself and stumbled over to where her purse was. She didn’t even bother protesting as he searched around inside it, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. She knew better than to keep anything more in there.